


Money for Love

by Gerec



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Pretty Woman Fusion, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Pretty Woman AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 09:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13361583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec
Summary: Charles Xavier is in L.A. at the behest of his stepfather, to close a large deal for Xavier International. When he gets lost trying to get back to the Beverly Wilshire he comes unexpectedly upon some much needed - and extremely attractive - help.'Pretty Woman' AU





	Money for Love

The third time he drove his car down the same bloody neon lit street, Charles knew he was hopelessly lost.

He cursed, pulling over to the closest bit of curb that had space for his expensive rental – a bright red Jaguar sedan that screamed “Hi I’m a rich asshole” in a three block radius – and thumped his head on the steering wheel. There was no good reason for Charles to be here in L.A. instead of home in New York; the bloody merger was going to happen with or without his involvement, and he had no idea why he let Kurt cajole him into coming out for a week of boring cocktail parties and polo matches, when he would much rather be holed up in his lab and working with Hank.

He also had no idea why he let _Raven_ take care of his travel arrangements again.

Charles sighed and reached for his cell, jabbing the speed dial button for his sister before he registered how late it would be in New York. Eleven at night here meant it was already two a.m. at home, and he quickly hung up before the call could connect, cursing again and muttering all manner of obscenities about Kurt, the urban sprawl and lack of reliable transit in L.A., and his sister’s ridiculous taste in vehicles.

A rap on his passenger side window almost made him jump, and he looked up to see a face peering in at him - a rather ruggedly handsome face attached to a very fit, very _muscular_ body. The man was dressed in a beat up leather jacket over a white tank top, his pecs straining against the shirt like they were liable to burst through the tight fabric at any second.

He was also…well, _insanely_ attractive.

The man said something, the sound muffled by the glass, and when Charles didn’t immediately answer, he rapped his knuckles against the passenger window again with an impatient huff. That was enough to jolt Charles into action, and he slid the window down just a sliver and asked, “Can I help you?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing, bub,” the man said, and then added, “This is my spot, and you pulled right up and stopped.”

“Oh, am I in your way? Is this your parking spot?” Charles asked, though he hadn’t seen another car around when he pulled over. “Sorry, I just need to use the GPS to find my way back to my hotel. Won’t be but a moment and then I’ll be out of your way.”

“Oh for fucks’ sakes,” the man grumbled, rubbing his forehead with a large, meaty looking hand. For a moment, Charles thought he was just going to leave but then the man (the moniker ‘Sexy Beast’ inexplicably popped into mind) stopped and looked at Charles again, eyes narrowing as he stared intently at his face, his chest, and then pointedly, at his _crotch_.

“What hotel you staying at?”

Charles hesitated for a moment, and then answered honestly, “The Beverly Wilshire.”

Sexy Beast whistled, and then yanked open the car door, and Charles was suddenly extremely certain that he was about to be mugged, or possibly murdered right there on Hollywood Blvd. He tried to appear calm and composed (and _not_ alarmed that some bloody _stranger_ twice his size had just jumped into his car) as the man settled himself comfortably into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt with a pleased grunt.

“Just _what_ do you think you’re—“

“Listen, bub, you look like a nice kid, so I’m going to do you a favor and get you back to your hotel in one piece; make sure nobody shoots you or tries to steal your fancy car. How does that sound?”

Charles rolled his eyes and frowned. “That sounds like bullshit actually. _You_ could be about to rob me or steal my car! I’m not going anywhere with you, _bub_ , now kindly get out of my car!”

He thought he sounded appropriately threatening (okay maybe not threatening but definitely…stern) but Sexy Beast just chuckled, and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, I like making an honest living, such as it is…how ‘bout you give me fifty bucks, and I’ll ride back with you and give you directions to your fancy hotel? _Or_ , we could just sit here all night and argue about it, ‘cause I’m not getting out of this very nice set of wheels.” 

Charles thumped his head against the steering wheel again, and groaned. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“Nope.” Sexy Beast reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a firm shake as he offered Charles a surprisingly charming smile. “Name’s Logan. What’s yours?”

The dash flashed 11:23 p.m. now, and he’d had a long and shitty enough day that somehow, taking the stranger up on his offer seemed less and less like a terrible idea. It was certainly better than mucking around trying to figure out the GPS in a car he didn’t know, and possibly circling L.A. blindly for another few hours.

“I’m Charles,” he said, and sighed again, making a mental note to never do anything his stepfather asked him to, _ever again_. “Fine then, let’s get the hell out of here.”

\---

Their ride back to the hotel was pretty quiet, and the kid seemed lost in thought as he drove, answering with an occasional grunt as Logan relayed the directions. On closer examination, Logan thought he might be closer to mid-twenties, if not late twenties, with a gorgeous profile and soft, red lips that were begging to be bitten. He tried not to think too much about how it might look wrapped around his cock; after all, it was more likely to be the other way around, with Logan going down on him for a quick and dirty blowjob.

Well, maybe not _that_ quick; he was hot enough that Logan didn’t think he’d mind taking his time.

“So,” Charles said, finally, about three minutes away from the hotel. “What brings you out this time of night? Work?”

Logan snorted. “Yeah. _Work_.”

Charles winced. “Sorry, I’m sorry to be dragging you away from…well whatever it is that you’re supposed to be doing. It was nice of you really to offer your help. What do you do again?”

He turned and stared, for once a little too shocked to have a wisecrack at the ready. “Are you…are you serious? Did you just ask me what I did for a living?”

“Why, are you a secret agent or something?” Charles joked, but then he sobered a little when he caught the incredulous expression on Logan’s face. “What?”

“Charles,” he answered, not sure whether to laugh or curse. “I’m a prostitute.”  
  
“ _What?_ ”

“You were on Hollywood Blvd, in the…didn’t you see all the hookers on the street? I was standing on the corner…are you fucking pulling my leg here?”  
  
“What? No!” Charles practically shouted, and he sounded so posh and so offended – at Logan, his profession, or the very idea that he’d stoop so low as to hire a prostitute - that Logan immediately lost all interest in that admittedly very attractive exterior. “I didn’t…I wasn’t looking for a prostitute!”

He huffed; should have known he’d get stuck with the one rich guy in L.A. who wasn’t _actually_ looking for a bit of rough – Remy was going to laugh his ass off when he found out.

They pulled up to the hotel in silence, and Charles waved away the valet when he came around to open the door. Logan sighed and rubbed his face absently; hopefully the bus wouldn’t be a long wait and he could get back with enough time to snag a real paying customer.

“Listen, Logan, I’m sorry,” Charles started, and then wilted a little under Logan’s stare, “I mean, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, not sorry that you’re a prostitute! There’s nothing wrong with being a prostitute at all; I’m sure you’re a very good one! I was just surprised…I really _was_ lost and I’d just pulled over to—“

“Can I get my fifty bucks now? Gotta get back to work.”

Charles startled, but then he reached into his wallet, and handed Logan a crisp fifty dollar bill. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then handed him another fifty. “Do you want to come in and get a drink with me? _Just_ a drink? I mean, that should be enough to cover your cab fare back, yeah? Let me apologize for the misunderstanding?”

He looked so earnest, and so mortified that Logan couldn’t help it; he laughed, and tucked the bills inside the lining of his leather jacket. “Sure kid,” he said, “let’s go get a drink.”

\---

Charles was fairly certain that he’d gone mad.

Why else would he be inviting a prostitute – Logan, he has a name! – in ‘for a drink’, which must have sounded like a blatant come-on to the man, no matter that Charles had insisted otherwise.

Not that Logan needed subtlety or discretion; now that he could take a second, better look under the hotel’s soft lighting, it was obvious that he was dressed to show off his impressive assets. Charles almost tripped over his own feet when Logan shrugged off his jacket and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder, revealing a copious amount of chest hair peeking out from under a white mesh tank. He was also wearing cowboy boots of all things, along with the tightest pair of jeans Charles had ever seen, accentuating the lines of an extremely well-defined bulge. It was almost obscene, the way he walked around like sex on a stick, oozing so much presence and sex appeal that Charles could scarcely form a coherent thought what with all the blood rushing straight to his own prick.

“Ahh, Mr. Xavier, welcome back. How was your day, sir?”

The concierge, a tall, impeccably dressed man with dark hair and – if Charles recalled correctly, a Russian name to go with his telltale accent – interrupted his musings as they made their way across the grand front lobby. He didn’t miss the way those sharp eyes trailed up and down Logan’s body, taking in his brazen attire with obvious understanding, though the expression on his face remained perfectly pleasant and utterly inscrutable.

“Yes, good, thank you, Mr.….”

“Azazel, sir, Azazel Ivanov at your service. And how are you finding your room, Mr. Xavier? Is there anything I can do for you this evening? Shall I send a bottle of champagne up for you, hmm? Some strawberries, perhaps?”

From behind him Logan snorted, and Charles was torn between being amused and horrified at the concierge’s unsubtle reference to what he clearly saw as their night’s planned activities. He quickened his pace as Logan and the concierge followed him dutifully, completely forgetting that he was supposed to head to the lobby bar until he’d already hit the button to the elevators.

“Umm, yes, thank you Mr. Ivanov. Could you send us a bottle of tequila too please? And some scotch?”

“Yes, right away, sir,” Azazel answered, and Charles swore he saw just the faintest quirk of the man’s lips as he and Logan stepped onto the elevator. He pushed the button for his floor and then leaned back and sighed, rubbing his temple as the doors closed behind them.

“So, champagne and strawberries eh,” Logan drawled, and Charles groaned, which in turn, made Logan chuckle. “You _sure_ you just want to have a drink together, bub? I mean, we are going up to your _room_ now, aren’t we?”

“Logan, I assure you, you’re a very attractive man but I don’t think—”

He was pressed then, rather suddenly and unexpectedly against the back wall, Logan’s arms bracketing either side of his head. The smell of him – sweat and the musk of some cheap cologne – was altogether intoxicating, and Charles almost wilted against all that skin and muscle, good intentions and dubious morals be damned.

“Listen, how ’bout we focus on having that drink first, and then we’ll see where the evening takes us? That sound alright with you, Chuck?”

The doors opened and Logan pulled away with a grin, leaving Charles to scramble after him – breathless, and sporting a giant erection – as he exited onto the penthouse floor.

\---

It turned out that Charles’ ‘room’ wasn’t so much a room as it was an entire floor of the Beverly Wilshire hotel.

To say the place was huge would be a gross understatement; Logan estimated that the living room alone was about the same size as the tiny apartment he shared with Remy, with floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto a bloody terrace that ran along the entire width of the building. There was also a formal dining room and a gourmet kitchen, and those were just the rooms he could see from the marble entryway.

“Jeez Chuck, just how rich are you?” he snarked. Logan didn’t care all that much for fancy digs and the like, but he did need to make rent this month, and hoped this meant that the kid wouldn’t care to negotiate with him over that blowjob. “This is a lotta space for one person.”

Charles stared at him for a few moments, and then turned his head to look around the room, as though he was only seeing it for the first time. “Um…my sister booked this for me,” he said, a little sheepishly, “well, she has her assistant do it, because she says I’m too useless and forgetful and I’d probably just show up without a reservation and get stuck in any old room. Which is fine with me, but Kurt says I have to entertain guests here and it would be unseemly to have the Chairman of Xavier International in anything but the penthouse suite apparently so—“

“Hey, it’s fine, no judgement here,” Logan interrupted, because the kid was cute but he talked too damn much. “So how ‘bout that drink?”

“Oh yes, right. What’ll you have?”

“Same as you, whatever you want,” he answered, and then added, “mind if I use your washroom first?”

“Sure, just take a left down that hall.”

He gave Charles a deliberately sultry wink, and chuckled at the gobsmacked expression that bloomed across the kid’s face, like he didn’t know how to handle being hit on by a prostitute. “Thanks Chuck. Be right back,” he said, then turned and sauntered in the opposite direction, putting an extra swagger in his step.

The bathroom was nice, with the requisite white towels and tiny soaps, and Logan took his time to appreciate his own reflection in the mirror. He checked his teeth, and took a quick whiff of his armpits (the deodorant was holding up – good) and then grabbed the condoms and lube out of his jacket pocket, tucking them into the back of jeans instead. Judging from the way Xavier was staring at his biceps (and his chest, and his _crotch_ ) he didn’t think it was too presumptuous to assume the kid wanted it bad. He was probably fighting an internal battle even now over the right and wrong of hiring Logan for sex.

Good.

When he returned to the living room he found champagne in a bucket and fresh strawberries laid out on the coffee table, along with the scotch and tequila that had been requested from the concierge. Charles smiled at him, and Logan was struck again at how handsome he was, and how utterly genuine; he seemed to be wholly unaffected by an obvious lifestyle of wealth and luxury, like he wanted nothing more from the moment than Logan’s approval at being a good host.

It was stupidly endearing, and made Logan stupid in turn.

 “They brought everything while you were in the washroom, Logan! Oh and there’s actually a full bar up here; I didn’t even realize it until I went to get some extra glasses. So we can have anything you want! Vodka, whiskey…oh I can make a martini! Would you like to try a—”

“Actually, I think I want to suck your dick.”

\---

“Um…okay?”

He cringed inwardly at his response to Logan, who was staring at him now like he was a juicy ribeye steak. Which, as it turned out was a big turn on for Charles, more so when Logan stalked closer and took the glass and bottle gently from his hands, setting them down on the trolley before backing him onto the sofa.

The man was very good at getting him undressed.

He gulped when his pants and underwear were yanked unceremoniously to his feet, and gasped when Logan took him in hand, stroking him with exactly the right grip that had him bucking his hips. It was…well perfect really, and even more so when Logan added his mouth, licking broad, enthusiastic swathes with his tongue like Charles had the world’s best tasting prick.

He was _so_ good that it knocked the wind _and_ the misgivings right out of him, making Charles lay back against the cushions and cede control; it was both impossible to think straight, and to stop the litany of ‘ _god Logan_ ’s and ‘ _please more_ ’s falling from his lips.

And then Charles came impossibly, embarrassingly fast, when Logan swallowed him down and proceeded to fuck his cock with his throat. He pulled away barely in time before Charles arched and then spurted, spilling all over Logan’s hand and dripping onto his stomach.   

He couldn’t feel his legs.

It was fucking _fantastic_.

Logan was gone and back before he came to his senses, and he smiled as the man handed him some tissues and then wiped him clean with a face-cloth. And _then_ he remembered his manners, and realized that Logan was still sporting an impressive hard-on – difficult to miss when it’s tantalizingly close at eye level! – and reached eagerly to return the favor.

He was surprised when Logan backed away with a smile, and shook his head. “I’m good, Chuck. It’s getting late and I need to get going. Still got a few hours of work, you know. If you could give me the rest of my money, I’d appreciate it.”

“Mo..money?” Charles stammered, “What…how much?”

Logan’s expression softened; he looked amused, and maybe a little…sad? It was better though than the brisk and all-business tone he’d used just previously. “You already gave me fifty, so another fifty will do.”

He scrambled onto his feet, and turned away to pull up his underwear and pants. Charles didn’t know why he was so flustered, or surprised; Logan had told him exactly what he did for a living, and of course would be expecting compensation for his ‘work’. He couldn’t _believe_ he’d let himself forget that even for a few moments, thinking that Logan might have actually wanted…

He mentally berated himself for going down that road, because Logan wasn’t interested in Charles as anything more than a client.

“Here you go,” he said, reaching into his wallet and grabbing a hundred dollar bill. “I told you, the fifty was for a cab, and for getting me back here in one piece. You’re—“ He stopped, and put on his most charming smile. “Thanks for everything. It was fun.”

Logan seemed to hesitate before he took the money from Charles and then shook his offered hand. “Yeah, it was,” he said, and stuffed the bill inside his jean’s pocket. Charles’ eyes flitted down to the bulge in Logan’s pants, and the immediately looked up again, to the man’s wry amusement. “Maybe I’ll run into you again, the next time you get lost in a ridiculously expensive car with no idea where you’re going.”

Charles laughed, and insisted that Logan have a drink – he chose a Single Malt, one of Charles’ favorites – before he left. And then they were standing at the penthouse door, Logan shrugging on his leather jacket, with Charles feeling inexplicably bereft at the idea of never seeing this man again.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” he blurted, just as Logan turned away to head to the elevator. “It’ll be really late, by the time you get back, yeah?”

Logan shook his head. “Thanks Chuck, but I don’t think it’s such a good—“

“I’ll pay you,” Charles continued, and he had no idea _what_ he was bloody doing to make such an offer. “For your time, I mean. Not for sex. Just to sleep. Stay.” He took a deep breath and extended his hand. “Don’t rush off, Logan. Please.”

For a few long seconds, Logan just looked at him, and Charles wished he could read the man’s mind, and know exactly what was going through that very attractive head. But then he chuckled, and reached for Charles, and followed him back inside the penthouse.

“Okay, Chuck. I’ll stay.”

 


End file.
